The Wild Turkey 263 



river has been denied me, that is, the adventure 

 as described by a number of excellent writers. 

 The few flocks I have seen cross streams made 

 no preliminary fuss, nor did they bother about 

 ascending trees. They simply " took off " where 

 they happened to reach the bank, and flew, not 

 only across the stream, but to a considerable dis- 

 tance beyond the farther bank — possibly half a 

 mile in all. The accepted version, which I do 

 not at all dispute, says that when the flock has 

 reached a broad river it halts upon the bank, 

 perhaps for days, while the birds figure out how 

 best to tackle the difflculty. Meanwhile, the 

 males do some strutting to encourage the younger 

 and more timid members. Finally, all hands 

 ascend to the tops of convenient trees, from which 

 they fly to the opposite shore. Should any fail 

 to make it and fall into the water, he needs must 

 swim, for there's no other course open, except he 

 dives and walks out on the bottom, which, by 

 the way, he cannot do. This is all reasonable 

 enough. That a turkey can swim for a consider- 

 able distance I know to my sorrow, for two 

 reasons, as follows. 



Years ago the beautiful work of the gifted 

 Scotch weaver-naturalist, Alexander Wilson, was 

 my dearest prized possession. Now the youthful 

 worship of Wilson was not unlike the worship 

 of a few other idols, inasmuch as it demanded a 



